Zhou Huan felt a surge of excitement at Shi Bingyuan’s shout, though a contradiction wrestled in his mind: if the goal was to deliberately ease up, why the sudden need to fight a fire? Who was the rescuer, and how the blaze had started remained a mystery.

“Clang, clang, clang!” Zhou Huan bounded up the stairs and met Shi Bingyuan. He tilted his head, examining the spot his apprentice pointed to. “Where do you see a difference? I can’t make it out yet!”

Shi Bingyuan moved closer, pointing a finger near the faucet handle. “Master, look here. There’s some black, gelatinous substance. Let’s follow this black trail.”

The two followed the dark residue until they reached a window at the far end of the second floor. Then, the black fragments traced a path from the window, following the corner of the hallway wall back to the staircase, leading down to the very window on the first floor where Zhou Huan had first found the dark material.

“Master, these things seem meaningless, yet they look like a single type of substance, arranged in such a consistent pattern leading all the way here.”

Zhou Huan paced back and forth twice, then pulled out a sheet of talisman paper. Since these papers were usually like the yellow joss paper used for burning offerings—dark colors easily absorbed moisture and pigment—he pressed the paper against the residue. He discovered faint, almost invisible impressions on the paper: some were arcs, others perfect semi-circles. After taking several more impressions, he carefully folded them and tucked them into his pocket, then turned and headed downstairs.

“Bingyuan, behind that window is Old Zhao’s dilapidated house. What’s the wind doing today?”

Shi Bingyuan opened the window, and a gust of wind swept in. Zhou Huan nodded. “Alright, let’s go. We should check Old Zhao’s yard; the fire likely originated there. Look at the damage here—the flames must have entered through the window.”

Upon hearing this, several firefighters immediately reported to their captain, who scurried happily after Zhou Huan toward the back courtyard.

Not long after arriving in the yard, Zhou Huan climbed onto the two large iron barrels situated beneath that specific window. Because the first-floor windows of this building were exceptionally high, ordinary people couldn’t reach them without stepping on something, and every window was fitted with protective bars. Zhou Huan searched around the barrels and discovered traces of the same black, gelatinous substance on the bars as well.

“Ouch!” Zhou Huan’s foot snagged on something sharp. He lifted his foot and saw it was the metal casing of a lighter, completely burned out. The iron barrel beneath Zhou Huan’s feet must have contained some sort of oil previously. Because of this, the lighter ignited the oil in the barrel, and the resulting wind blew the flames into the market window, causing the fire.

The fire captain was instantly delighted; this saved him a great deal of work. Carrying a cigarette, he approached Zhou Huan. “Master Zhou, have a smoke. My friend brought these back from abroad; they’re quite fragrant. Give them a try.”

Zhou Huan paused, then pulled out the impressions he had taken, handing them to the captain. “You’re something else. You guys even smoke these things? Take this. Draw me an exact duplicate, and you can keep the original impressions.”

“Right, right, thank you, Master Zhou, thank you so much. Let me light that for you.” The captain expertly flicked his lighter, lighting Zhou Huan’s cigarette. Zhou Huan accepted it only out of politeness; he rarely smoked otherwise.

“There probably isn’t anything more to investigate. Go back and focus on these impressions; they should be some kind of footprint or track…” As Zhou Huan spoke, he suddenly recalled the pair of shoes that had jumped into the inferno. Could this incident be connected to those strange shoes?

Thinking this, he cut short his sentence and walked alone toward Old Zhao’s house again. He reached the door, pushed it open, and searched everywhere inside—behind the door, on the roof, under the bed. He scoured the place, but the red-and-white canvas shoes were nowhere to be seen. This dashed Zhou Huan’s hopes, as he wanted those shoes to tell a story, but they were gone.

Zhou Huan let out a long sigh, shaking his head. “Ah, a pair of shoes, leaping into a sea of fire—would they remain intact?” He gave a self-deprecating smile, realizing he was overthinking things. He then left Old Zhao’s house and headed out of the courtyard.

The group of firefighters cordoned off the scene, and many people loaded into vehicles to leave. Zhou Huan drove Shi Bingyuan to the hospital; he wanted to check on Old Zhang, who had fainted earlier.

By the time they reached the hospital, dawn was breaking. Hong Kun, having received a call, was waiting just outside the main entrance on the ground floor. Upon seeing Zhou Huan, he reported Old Zhang’s condition: “Master, this is strange. Old Zhang is in the hospital under the same circumstances as Old Zhao. Please go take a look!”

Zhou Huan thought, how could things be so coincidental? He followed Hong Kun into the ward. The hospital was efficient; they had placed Old Zhang and Old Zhao in the same room. Since the hospital staff were accustomed to the patients Zhou Huan brought in, whenever he arrived with someone, they were given a special room, usually situated near storerooms or restrooms, essentially isolated from the main patient areas. This was because these patients presented with such bizarre conditions that the hospital staff could only maintain their vital signs.

Hong Kun opened the door for Zhou Huan. Standing outside, Zhou Huan saw two men lying side-by-side on hospital beds. Their eyes were identical: staring blankly upward at the ceiling, pupils dilated, with faint twitches of terror showing. Their facial muscles spasmed intermittently. Listening closely, they were murmuring different things.

Old Zhao was weakly calling out Zhou Huan’s name, while the other man was weakly calling for rescue. Both desired salvation, yet the reason remained an unsolvable enigma to everyone present.

“Master, perhaps we should perform a soul summoning for them?” Hong Kun inquired of Zhou Huan.

Zhou Huan shook his head. “It’s best not to, and don’t wake them up yet. Once they awaken, they’ll likely forget everything that happened before. We need to extract what they saw in their current state—quickly, without delay.”

Dongzi burst in, panting, from the doorway. “Oh, oh! Where did you all run off to? Why was the ward moved over here? I’m exhausted! I distinctly remember the room being over there. I went into the wrong room earlier and got chased out by an old woman.”

“Hahaha, did you see something you shouldn’t have?” Hong Kun teased Dongzi.

Dongzi bristled. “To be honest, ever since I started looking after Old Zhao, I get lost every time I use the restroom. It’s really weird, too—I’ve had constant diarrhea these past two days, needing to go constantly. The toilet is right there, but I go in one door and come out somewhere else—it’s damned supernatural!”

“Did you not draw a talisman or something?” Zhou Huan felt utterly helpless with Dongzi. He wanted to teach the young man properly but never seemed to find the time. So, Zhou Huan deliberately prompted him, then suddenly grabbed Dongzi’s shoulder and led him to the entrance of the restroom, pointing. “Watch closely. The toilet inside connects both ends. If you go in from this side and try to exit from that side, you will definitely get turned around. This isn’t a supernatural explanation; you just need to remember to exit from the same side you entered.”

Frankly, Dongzi was no longer a child. Seeing Zhou Huan constantly worry over him, and with Hong Kun always mocking him, Dongzi felt conflicted. He genuinely wanted to prove himself but kept missing opportunities to handle a proper case independently to salvage some dignity.

“Alright, Dongzi, keep a close watch on Old Zhao and Old Zhang. This time your task is even bigger—two of them now,” Zhou Huan assigned. Dongzi nodded solemnly.

Hong Kun felt an impulse to give Dongzi a thumbs-up seeing his newfound resolve, but he held back, not revealing it.

Zhou Huan left Shi Bingyuan and Dongzi at the hospital. As he departed, he gave Shi Bingyuan one final task: “Figure out what they saw just before they became terrified. That shouldn’t be difficult; just think it through. I’m going back to check on Xiao Yan’er and have a chat with her.”

“Don’t worry, Master. I’ll try my best to ask; it shouldn’t be a problem,” Shi Bingyuan promised. Dongzi and Shi Bingyuan exchanged a look, clapped hands once, and nodded at each other.

Zhou Huan shook his head, turned, and left the ward, taking Hong Kun back to Fushou Hall. The moment they entered, Xiao Yan’er saw Zhou Huan as if he were family. Clutching her Dumbo toy, she ran over and immediately clung to his leg, though she remained silent.

Zhou Huan smoothly picked up the little girl. “Uncle will see if little Yan’er is beautiful now!”

Tianxiong had bought Xiao Yan’er some new clothes, given her a bath, bought her toys, and even braided her hair.

Hong Kun leaned in and kissed Xiao Yan’er twice. She nestled contentedly in Zhou Huan’s arms, allowing him to feel a rare sense of peace and ease.

“Master, Sister Xiaohe received a dispatch and went out. Today’s meal…” Tianxiong asked Zhou Huan.

Hong Kun rolled up his sleeves. “I know you can’t manage it. The person watching the child usually doesn’t have time to watch the child. Today, I’ll humbly offer my skills; I’ll cook!”

“Fine, Hong Kun, cook a lot, enough to take some to Dongzi and Shi Bingyuan.”

“No problem, I’ll definitely save some for them. Everyone knows how much that guy Dongzi can eat, don't worry!” With that, Hong Kun headed straight into the kitchen to start preparing the meal.

Zhou Huan turned to Tianxiong. “How long ago did your Sister Xiaohe leave?”

“Just a little while ago. She said it was close by, that she’d arrange things and be right back.”

“Did she say where?”

“She said she was heading to the market; I’m not exactly sure what it’s about,” Tianxiong finished, then suddenly added, “It couldn’t be another death, could it?”

“Let’s hope not. If someone died, the trouble will be huge again!”

A phone rang. Zhou Huan saw it was Xiaohe calling. He answered, and the voice on the other end immediately said, “Brother Huan, hurry to the market. An old lady has died, and her appearance is quite gruesome. I’m not sure if it’s supernatural, but you should come take a look!”